Knowing Nothing of This ’Til Then

I was younger then, but only by months. Curiosity settled unbearably throughout my limbs And I waited Patiently for you to carry yourself down wooden stairs Rightleftright – my ear against olive-colored carpet To make sure that coast was clear Hands resting on hinge of drawer and pulling I reached inside, ransacked and shifted through its contents And uncovered your thoughts in journal form (success) I remembered then how embarrassment Burnt my cheeks red Everything you said when you found the Monster I had hidden in the sheets beneath my bed And I recalled your tears The shape your body took, fetally curled With your knees against your chest You wept endlessly. Fearing flood or revenge I tossed and turned that night, grasping the fact That I had failed you and again – When I opened that leather cover and divulged Your evenly spaced print to my eyes and that entry I had watched you record on blue printed lines Night prior, before dark, before saying “Sharpen this, please!” in an angry tone From across the hall and again – With a clean-cut graphite tip you wrote “October twenty-second …” In the uppermost corner and proceeded with “My Journal, I have never felt so alone …”